Strictly Business
by Ms. Storyteller
Summary: HPDM slash--Harry's partner at Weasley and Granger Investigations, Seamus Finnigan, has transferred to Dublin to be closer to his family. You'll never guess who they get to replace him. Oh wait, you probably will... 14 posted
1. Part 1 The Tense Introduction

Title: Strictly Business part 1/4 Pairings: Harry/Draco, past Harry/Ron  
  
Rating: PG-13 (I know, boring)  
  
Spoilers: I'm not sure, but I'd go with the whole series just in case  
  
Warnings: Post-Hogwarts  
  
Summary: Harry's partner at Weasley and Granger Investigations, Seamus Finnigan, has transferred to Dublin to be closer to his family. You'll never guess who they get to replace him. Oh wait, you probably will... Note: Almost entirely written around this quote from Buffy the Vampire Slayer: "It's Cordelia! Remember? The, the 'We Hate Cordelia' club, of which you are the treasurer."  
  
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of any of the characters herein. They belong to JK Rowling, et al, and it's probably better that way.  
  
Harry Potter landed rather awkwardly in his fireplace and shot a hand out to steady himself. He took a tentative step forward and grimaced when he felt pain shoot up his ankle. Limping and scowling, he dusted the soot off his robes and slowly made his way to the couch.  
  
Giving a faint grunt of pain, Harry cautiously removed his boot and sock. He pointed his wand at the hurt ankle, muttered a quick healing spell, and flexed his foot to check the spell's effectiveness. When he was satisfied that there was no more pain, he pushed himself up and shuffled into his bedroom.  
  
He had changed into his warm, well-worn flannel pajamas and headed towards the bathroom to wash up when a motherly voice stopped him.  
  
"Oh, tut tut," the mirror hanging above his dresser said as he past, "Come here, dear. Let me have a look at you."  
  
Obediently, Harry backtracked until his reflection looked back at him in his modestly sized mirror. His face was pale and drawn, and behind his glasses his green eyes were surrounded by shadows. Since his former partner Seamus Finnigan had left his job at Weasley and Granger Investigations last month in favor of a position closer to his home in Dublin, Harry had been working overtime trying to do the work of two people until they found a replacement. He'd been so tired after work that night that he'd opted to use the Floo network to get home because he feared splinching himself if he tried to Apparate.  
  
"Oh, Harry, look at you. You're a right mess, son," the mirror fretted.  
  
Harry saw his eyes roll in response. "Been a bit busy at work."  
  
"A *bit* busy? I didn't even see you yesterday. Just fell into bed without so much as turning on a light, you did. I wouldn't have even known it was you if it wasn't for the moonlight coming in through the window. You need to tell that slave driver of a boss to give you a day off."  
  
Harry remembered Hermione practically kicking him out of his office earlier and couldn't help the ironic grin that worked its way across his lips. "I rather like the long hours myself," he admitted as he attempted to pat down his wayward ebony hair, "Gives me something to do with my time."  
  
That was true enough. Loading his mind with surveillance pictures and wrongdoings of the stray Death Eater left over from Voldemort's reign was as good a way as any to avoid being in his flat alone any longer than necessary.  
  
"You have to go out and have fun, lad! Look at you, if you're a day over twenty-four, I'll gladly put a crack right down the middle of my glass. You're a young man! Too young to be falling into bed alone at 3AM." There was a pause, and then, "Now there's a thought! What happened to that dishy redhead you always had 'round? Didn't sound as if you two had to look for things to keep you occupied." If it was possible for a mirror to leer, Harry was sure she would have done it.  
  
Inwardly he sighed. It had been nearly nine months since he and Ron and broken it off, but apparently his mirror, which was called Gladys, didn't have the same concept of time as people did. Whenever she spoke with him, she'd bring up Ron as if he'd just been 'round the night before. It got a bit tedious, and there were only so many times he could tell the mirror he'd been dumped while being forced to watch the reflection of his mouth forming the words at the same time.  
  
"Gladys, I've never had a mother, and I assure you I don't need one," he answered instead of responding to her question.  
  
"If not a mother then someone to look after you," Gladys replied, "You've gone and put yourself in something of a state, dear."  
  
"Well, it will make you happy to know that I've been kicked out of the office all day tomorrow. I'm not to go back until Monday," Harry said.  
  
He remembered the way Percy had waved away his objections about his forced respite with the mumbled excuse that Harry was no use to him if he couldn't even stop himself from falling asleep during one of Hermione's briefings, and drooling all over his notes. While he didn't doubt Percy was worried about his well being, the anal retentive former Ministry lackey was hardly one to talk about over-exerting oneself; half the time Harry left the office at the end of the day, Percy was still there.  
  
No, it rang false to Harry. Something was happening that they weren't telling him about, and he would bet every Galleon in his pocket that it had to do with the as-of-yet unfilled position of his new partner. When he confronted Hermione about that as she was forcibly removing him from the building that night, she had only smiled guiltily, kissed him on the cheek and shoved him towards the fireplace.  
  
The only other person that would have any idea about what they were doing was Ron, and though the two of them were still friendly, it had been quite some time since they had spoken more than pleasantries to one another regarding anything other than business. Harry wasn't particularly pleased with the current stagnation in their relationship, but while he really was over Ron, seeing him smile or hearing him laugh brought up a sort of painful, bitter nostalgia that he was working very hard to overcome. And seeing Ron smile or laugh with Byron, Hermione's assistant, brought up something different in Harry that was just as painful and bitter. No, he wasn't going to be going out of his way to talk to Ron any time soon.  
  
"You could certainly use the rest," Gladys responded, pulling Harry out of his reverie and causing him to start.  
  
"Yes, well. Better get on that then," he agreed and strode into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.  
  
*****  
  
On Monday morning when Harry walked into work, he felt, if not refreshed, then at least functional. The bags under his eyes had faded away with the twelve hours of sleep he'd gotten on Sunday, and the chicken curry he'd eaten for dinner helped make him feel more alive than he'd felt in weeks. The day off had been a good idea, though they would have to bring back the rack in order to get Harry to admit it to anyone other than himself.  
  
He was also ready to face whatever terrible scheme Percy and Hermione had cooked up behind his back. Hermione had owled him Sunday night and told him to be in her office at 8AM on Monday. Harry had come an hour early to attempt to shuffle through all the paperwork that had no doubt accumulated on his desk over the day he was away.  
  
The receptionist Gerald, a tall, lanky man with overlarge hands, very small ears and a nose easily twice the size of a normal person's-honestly the sheer, disproportionate lopsidedness of the man dumbfounded Harry more with each viewing-saw him walk in the building and stood up in greeting, much to Harry's confusion.  
  
"Hello, Harry."  
  
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Gerald."  
  
Gerald looked twitchy and nervous, and this was confirmed when he wiped his hands on the material of his black robes. "You look.good," Harry's eyebrow rose ever higher and the receptionist rushed to explain, "I mean, considering. I mean, not that I really.but I've heard stories. That is to say everyone's.but you look.I thought that you'd come in spitting nails, it's good to see that you're more professional than that."  
  
When Harry continued to look at him with a completely uncomprehending expression on his face, Gerald slowly sunk back down to his seat.  
  
"You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?" He asked.  
  
"Well, perhaps if you'd finish a sentence," Harry suggested.  
  
"Yes, right," Gerald rifled through some papers on his desk and seemed to pick a few at random, "I really need to get these to Percy. I must be off now. Bye, Harry!"  
  
Harry watched in bemusement as the man scurried away from him. With a shake of his head, he made his way down the hall, stopping abruptly outside of the doorway to the waiting room. The thing that caught his attention was the clothing on the man whose back was facing him. Instead of the traditional, professional black robes worn in the building, this man was wearing what looked to Harry to be a snug, emerald colored riding jacket over well-fitting black trousers and heavy black leather boots. Harry took in an unsteady breath. It was not normal for a wizard to wear clothing that did so little to conceal his body, at least in public. And that man certainly wore his trousers well.  
  
Harry was about to tear his gaze away and keep going down the hall to his office when the man suddenly turned around. Guiltily, Harry quickly pulled his eyes up to look directly into the face of Draco Malfoy.  
  
*****  
  
He felt all the breath leave him at once. There in front of him was the person Harry had used all his ingenuity to successfully avoid running into for the past six years. It was hard considering Malfoy worked as an Auror, and Harry, as a part of an independent investigation firm, routinely ran into many Ministry employees. He managed to avoid Malfoy with some amount of ruthless determination, but now there he was, in Harry's own place of business, just as casual as you please.  
  
If gossip (read: *The Daily Prophet*) was to be believed, the great transformation of Draco Malfoy was something akin to that of the ever- changing singer, Madonna (and now Harry had Aunt Petunia's magazines to thank for the disturbing image of Malfoy wearing a cone-shaped brassiere). It was deemed to be a total personality overhaul, complete with shifting loyalties and a healthy dose of patricide to clear up any confusion as to where Malfoy stood.  
  
However, he didn't look any different to Harry. Same unnaturally white hair; even if it wasn't slicked back like it was in school, but instead barely brushed his shoulders and dramatically framed his face. And speaking of his face, it looked as it always did: sharp, angular and dangerous, even if his gray eyes weren't as cold as Harry remembered, and his mouth wasn't twisted into a sneer. In fact, his lips were turned upwards in a faint half smile that didn't convey malicious amusement like all the other grins Harry had seen aimed in his direction.  
  
It was at that moment that Harry realized he had spent far too much time studying his old adversary's face.  
  
Malfoy's smile grew wider as if the same thought had crossed his mind at exactly the same moment, and Harry cleared his throat and willed his ears not to turn red.  
  
"Hello, Potter," Malfoy said, and his voice wasn't friendly, but it was surprisingly soft and carried none of the acid he laced it with when they were kids.  
  
Malfoy didn't seem surprised to see Harry. Though, Harry thought, why should he be? After all, everyone knew Harry worked at Weasley and Granger.  
  
He prepared himself to say something biting, something like: *What Malfoy, get time off from your busy baby-eating schedule and decide to pay me a visit?* Or: *Funny, I could have sworn we had wards up against Death Eaters in this building*. Or possibly: *What in the bloody hell are you doing here?* However, he was afraid that if he opened his mouth, what would come out would be: *Your hair looks so soft, can I touch it?* And Harry would rather have played "Uncle" with the Cruciatus curse before saying that.  
  
Consequently, he was left staring dumbfounded, his eyes wide and disbelieving.  
  
Malfoy's smirk was more amused than malicious when he declared, "Just as articulate as ever, I see."  
  
That tore it. Harry pulled himself together and felt the familiar sting of hatred wash over him. He took three long strides into the waiting room until he stood toe to toe with Malfoy.  
  
"What do you think."  
  
Right then, a disheveled looking Hermione Apparated into the room, shocking them both.  
  
"Oh, Harry!" She exclaimed upon seeing him, "Gerald told me you were in. What are you doing here?"  
  
Harry gave her an incredulous look. "I *work here*, Hermione! I think the question you should be asking is what *he's* doing here!" He gestured emphatically to Malfoy whose face had crumbled in on itself in confusion.  
  
"What, you mean you haven't told him?"  
  
Hermione shrugged helplessly. "I was going to today, honestly," she turned to look at Harry who was gaping unattractively back at her. "Why are you *early*? You're never early!"  
  
"I wanted to get some work done since I had been banished from my office yesterday. What is going on? Have we started some sort of ex-Death Eater outreach program?" He asked scathingly.  
  
"He's your new partner."  
  
Percy's voice caused Harry to whirl around and face the door where his boss had entered. When the meaning of his words sunk in, he visibly blanched, feeling his whole face go white.  
  
"*Excuse me?*" He shrieked. Gerald, who had been walking past the room, "eeked!" loudly and in his haste to get away from the scene nearly dropped the newspaper he'd been carrying.  
  
"Why don't we all go into my office and discuss this in private?" Percy suggested in that tone of voice he had that allowed for no argument.  
  
Hermione, Harry and Malfoy followed Percy down the hall and into his office, a posh space with an elaborate oak desk and giant floor to ceiling windows. The walls were practically suffocating from all the awards and plaques Percy had hung, some of them dating back to his Hogwarts days. Percy went to stand behind his desk and continued their conversation.  
  
"He's quit working for the Ministry and he's going to work with us," Percy elaborated. "With you."  
  
"Draco Malfoy? *Draco Malfoy*? Are you kidding me? Hermione, how could you even consider this? Hiring the man who tormented you for seven years? The man who gleefully called you a Mudblood and smeared rumors about you all over *The Daily Prophet*? And you, Percy! He insulted your family more than anyone else. This is mad!"  
  
"I know it sounds crazy," Hermione began, her hands touching Harry's shoulders in a placating fashion. "Of course we thought about all that. We called him in for a real interview yesterday to get our questions answered and decide for ourselves if he could be trusted. Percy has been working with him for a while now. It's not as though we're fumbling about with our eyes closed on this."  
  
"But he's EVIL!" Harry shouted accusingly.  
  
"He is NOT," Hermione replied, her tone beginning to become flustered, "He was an Auror, Harry. He double-crossed Voldemort and his father. He pledged loyalty to the light."  
  
"Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater. You know him, 'Mione. Dark Mark or not, he'll always be a slimy, two-faced prat that only looks out for himself. That's not exactly my idea of the perfect partner. The person I have to trust not to get me *killed*."  
  
Hermione sighed. "This is why I wanted to meet with you this morning and calmly explain it. Harry, he was the best Auror at the Ministry. He single- handedly removed the biggest Death Eater threat in Britain."  
  
Harry scoffed. "It doesn't count as 'single-handed removal' when all he had to do was go home for Sunday dinner."  
  
"I *am* standing right here," Malfoy interrupted, and gave a derisive wave in their direction, "I can *hear* you."  
  
Harry's mind flickered away from the argument a moment to note that the angry sneer he remembered had returned to Malfoy's face.  
  
"Shut up, this is none of your business," he shot back.  
  
"Is that a joke, Potter?" Malfoy questioned, causing Harry to redden slightly when he realized what he said.  
  
"Oh. Right," he responded weakly.  
  
"Harry." Hermione tried again.  
  
"Draco Malfoy, Hermione! Do you remember sixth year when you were recording secretary for the Society to Remove Malfoy From Hogwarts? You kept the *minutes*."  
  
Draco's eyebrows rose up to his unfortunately un-receding hairline.  
  
"You were the vice-president!" Hermione replied as she momentarily lost her calm.  
  
"Yes, but it's already clearly established that *I* hate him!"  
  
"If you'd just."  
  
"Granger's right," Malfoy said, smoothly cutting in, his drawl making Harry want to punch him. "I'm reformed now. I play for the good guys. I fight for the light-to protect our children and rainbows and." he seemed unable to come up with anything else, ".chocolate frogs."  
  
"Chocolate frogs?" Harry asked sardonically.  
  
Malfoy shrugged. "I like chocolate frogs."  
  
Harry had to try very hard not to notice the way Malfoy's coat stretched across his chest when he moved his shoulders.  
  
"Why would you come *here*?" Harry questioned.  
  
"The same reason you created this place. The Ministry is full of power hungry megalomaniacs who would stab you in the back as soon as smile at you. I've spent my whole life looking behind me, and I'm tired of it. So I thought, 'Where can I go that would utilize my skills, and not make me afraid to leave my office door unlocked?' Then I remembered this place: Bloody noble and brave Gryffindors as far as the eye can see. At least I can trust that you would try to stab me in the front." Draco looked straight in Harry's eyes, talked directly to him, his gray stare making Harry uncomfortable.  
  
"This is non-negotiable," Percy chimed in, finally speaking up. "This company belongs to Hermione and me, and this is our decision."  
  
"But." Harry began.  
  
"If you don't like it, you could find employment elsewhere," Percy said.  
  
Harry was frozen in shock, an honestly hurt expression on his face. Draco looked back and forth between the two men with obvious discomfort.  
  
"Weasley." he said tentatively.  
  
"I don't like my authority being questioned," Percy continued, ignoring Malfoy completely. "We're all friends here, Harry, but Hermione and I can't run this place by giving everyone a say."  
  
Harry tried again, his desperation becoming more obvious. "Percy."  
  
"No."  
  
He looked on his other side. "Hermione, please."  
  
She gave him a helpless look.  
  
"This is like a nightmare. You've ambushed me! You met in secret and were going to spring this on me when I couldn't."  
  
"Harry, you're overreacting. You're both the best at what you do, I'm sure you'll make it." Hermione tried to interject.  
  
"I'm not *overreacting*. If anything, I'm not reacting enough! I walk into work this morning only to get." Harry trailed off when he remembered why it was he even noticed Malfoy in the first place.  
  
Hermione was too caught up to notice his sudden uneasiness. "If you'd only *try*," she urged.  
  
Harry's ire was rising. "I'm *trying* to understand how either of you could."  
  
"Harry."  
  
"At least make him dress normally, for Godric's sake! He looks indecent!"  
  
Everyone stopped talking and Harry wanted to die. Malfoy was giving him a critical, if vastly amused, look. He studied him for a moment before responding.  
  
"It didn't seem to bother you a few minutes ago."  
  
".I don't know what you're."  
  
"Please, Potter. I'm an Auror, you don't think I know when someone's standing behind me?" Malfoy reasoned, talking to Harry as if he were a small child.  
  
Before Harry could think of a suitable reply to Malfoy's comment and the questioning stares Hermione and Percy were giving him, the door burst unceremoniously open, the wood slamming deafeningly against the wall.  
  
Ron Weasley stood in the doorway, breathing hard and looking absolutely furious.  
  
"*What in the bloody fuck is going on?*" He bellowed, his eyes locked on Malfoy's composed form.  
  
"Oh God," Harry heard Hermione mutter beside him and he agreed with the sentiment.  
  
Percy looked unruffled by the interruption. "Close the door, Ron," he said calmly.  
  
"I want to know what Draco Malfoy is doing here NOW!"  
  
"And I'll tell you as soon as you close the door," Percy responded reasonably.  
  
Harry watched as Ron grabbed the door handle and flung it closed with a resounding bang. "Are you happy?" He sneered. "Now could someone kindly tell me about this secret meeting between you three and the evil Death Eater?"  
  
"I don't need to ask who the president of your little schoolchild secret society was then," Malfoy commented, suddenly standing directly behind him. His voice was a whisper uttered lightly into Harry's ear.  
  
Harry shut his eyes against the fluttery, ticklish feeling caused by Malfoy's soft breath skittering past the shell of his ear. He didn't bother responding to the comment-though it was accurate-and instead took a step forward to distance himself from Malfoy and focus his attention on Ron, willing his friend not to attack.  
  
"HIS PARTNER?"  
  
Harry flinched. He must not have done a very good job paying attention, because he had no idea which of his two superiors explained the situation to Ron. As incredibly unhappy as he was about this surreal new development in his otherwise monotonous life, he knew Ron had to be twice as angry. The man was known for his ability to hold a grudge, and the deep, festering hatred he had for Malfoy put all his other petty grievances to shame. At least with Malfoy every morsel of resentment was well deserved.  
  
"I refuse to let this arrogant, untrustworthy prig work with Harry!" Ron declared.  
  
Percy leveled him with an even stare. "You don't have any say in who I hire for this firm or where I choose to place them."  
  
"The hell I don't!" He replied. "HARRY'S MY BO.!"  
  
Ron trailed off, and the whole room went silent. Harry's green eyes were wide behind his glasses and he expelled a loud breath. Hermione looked terribly uncomfortable, and even the usually unflappable Percy was flustered. Malfoy looked intrigued.  
  
"Harry's my friend," Ron continued lamely, all his righteous indignation gone.  
  
There was a pause before Harry answered, his voice low but firm. "Leave, Ron. This has nothing to do with you."  
  
Ron looked at Harry a moment. "Fine," he answered, tension practically screaming from his body. His hand held his wand so tightly that the knuckles had turned white.  
  
With a final look around the room and a glare at Malfoy, he stomped out. Percy's sigh aroused the his attention, and Harry watched as he took off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. He looked back at them wearily.  
  
"Draco stays," he stated tersely, "Now can you all get out of my office, please?"  
  
They filed out, Harry glowering at Malfoy's back. As soon as the door had shut lightly behind Hermione, she reached out and touched a hand to Harry's shoulder.  
  
"Are you ok?" She asked cautiously.  
  
Harry snorted. "I think that answer is glaringly obvious."  
  
"No, not that. I mean, about Ron."  
  
Harry glanced sideways to see Malfoy watching their conversation with obvious interest.  
  
"I'm fine," Harry dismissed quickly with a wave of his hand, eager to drop the subject.  
  
"I know you're still upset."  
  
"I said I'm *fine*," he asserted.  
  
She looked unconvinced. "Is there anything I can."  
  
"No. Stop being a busybody, Hermione."  
  
She gave a quick shrug, unabashed. "You forget I'm doubly invested. I'm your friend AND I sign your paycheques." Stretching up on her tiptoes, she gave him a maternal kiss on the cheek and headed into her office next to Percy's.  
  
Harry ran a hand through his chaotic hair and sighed. The sound of Malfoy clearing his throat made him wince. Abruptly, he straightened his back and gave his nemesis a look infused with as much disgust as he could muster.  
  
"I'm going," he grit out and started down the hall.  
  
He was almost at the staircase that led down to his office when Malfoy's voice stopped him.  
  
"Potter?"  
  
Tiredly, Harry turned back around. "What?"  
  
Malfoy had a small, secret smile on his face. "I look forward to working with you."  
  
***** 


	2. Part 2 Overuse of the Word 'Picture'

Name: Strictly Business part 2/4  
  
Author: Stephanie Email: XMSnBufGal@aol.com Pairings: Harry/Draco, past Harry/Ron  
  
Rating: PG-13 (I know, boring) Categories: romance, humor and a bit of drama, Post-Hogwarts  
  
Spoilers: I'm not sure, but I'd go with the whole series just in case. This chapter, definitely OotP  
  
Summary: Harry's partner at Weasley and Granger Investigations, Seamus Finnigan, has transferred to Dublin to be closer to his family. You'll never guess who they get to replace him. Oh wait, you probably will...  
  
This section: The case Harry and Draco are working on takes a turn for the worse with a surprising and disturbing revelation. The two men learn how to get along, at least a little, and learn about each other in the process. In other news, Draco is wearing soft leather trousers and Harry doesn't care. At all. That he'll admit.  
  
Notes: Big thanks to my lovely and SEXY betas Mare, who hit my hand with a ruler for my abuse of the word 'just' and the mighty adverb; and Sparklespiff/Moni, who glued my infinitives back together after I so maliciously split them. Thanks girls! Thanks also to everyone who commented last time, because you make me feel warm and fuzzy inside.  
  
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of any of the characters herein. They belong to JK Rowling, et al, and it's probably better that way.  
  
Strictly Business  
  
On Tuesday morning, Harry shuffled into his office as usual at exactly eight in the morning as usual. He dusted the last of the snow off of his winter cloak and removed it. He hadn't had a chance to speak with Hermione or Percy any further about the Malfoy issue the day before because of a meeting he had in London that afternoon with the head of Wizards For The Protection of Muggles.   
  
The WTPM was made up entirely of Muggle-Borns who worked to control the Witches and Wizards who abused their magic by hurting Muggles. The Ministry took this seriously only insofar as the incidents that could be tracked back to magic, or cause suspicion among Muggles. However, there were quite a few more robberies, frauds and other criminal acts perpetrated by Wizards that were disguised to look like everyday occurrences which slipped under the Ministry's radar.   
  
Daffodillia Wigglerouse, the founder of WTPM, was a stern woman born from a Muggle mother and Wizard father. She was trained as an Auror, but quit three years prior due to an incident in which nearly everyone at the Ministry except Arthur Weasley and Amelia Bones turned a blind eye to the mysterious deaths of three Muggles. It was obviously by use of the Asphixiarus curse, but Muggle police assumed the three men had been strangled, so the Ministry didn't need to do any clean up, and therefore didn't bother with it.  
  
Weasley and Granger had done a lot of work with the WTPM over the years. Lately, Harry had been meeting with Wigglerouse about a rash of robberies in and around London. When Wizarding experts examined the crime scenes, scans of the area picked up matching magical imprints, proving that the same people had committed each one.  
  
Wigglerouse had nothing new to tell him at their last meeting regarding the case, and it was extremely frustrating. The only good part had been not seeing Malfoy again the rest of the day. It was bad enough that he spent the whole night thinking about the stupid prat with his stupid, lewd clothing and his stupid mouth that said such stupid things. God, how Harry hated him.  
  
Now, he had a day of paperwork and being holed up in his office to look forward to. He had neglected it for two days, and the mountain of folders and files on his desk looked ready to tumble over onto the floor. Glad that he wouldn't have to deal with any interruptions, Harry pulled off his heavy black robe to reveal a plain white dress shirt opened to expose his throat and straight black trousers. He unbuttoned the cuff at his right wrist and rolled it up to the elbow. He was halfway done with the left one when he was startled by a voice behind him.  
  
"Well, look who's indecent now." Harry whirled around to see Malfoy leaning casually against the doorframe, his eyes coasting up and down Harry's body predatorily.  
  
"Potter, if I knew you were going to be putting on a show, I would have brought popcorn."  
  
Harry began putting his robe back on.   
  
"Oh no!" Malfoy said earnestly. "Please, don't stop on my account."  
  
He struggled to get his arms through the sleeves and hastily buttoned it back up. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.  
  
"I *work here*, Potter," Malfoy said, obviously mocking Harry's similar comment to Hermione from the day before.   
  
Harry felt his stomach drop when Malfoy walked into the room, his belongings floating behind him. Seamus had never been one to use the office, instead choosing to do his work in the cafeteria or the Three Broomsticks-anywhere social really, because he was never one to be alone. Harry had almost forgotten that they'd shared an office, and now, presumably, Seamus's desk on the other side of the room belonged to Malfoy. The boxes all landed on the desk across from Harry's with a soft thump, confirming his suspicions. Then Draco was standing directly in front of him and Harry had to lift his head to meet his eyes.  
  
"Did you need something?" he asked irritably.  
  
Malfoy looked at him appraisingly for a moment before responding. "Why'd you get stuck in the basement? Weasley trying to get rid of you?"  
  
Harry grit his teeth. "I chose it. I work better *alone*. Feel free to take that as a hint."  
  
"I quite like it down here, actually," Malfoy answered serenely, conveniently ignoring what Harry said. He placed a pale hand with long, thin fingers against one of the cold granite walls. "Reminds me of the dungeons at Hogwarts."  
  
"Oh, lovely," Harry said.  
  
Malfoy walked around Harry's desk and returned to his own to begin unpacking his boxes. Harry watched with fascination as he removed packs of plain white parchment and assorted quills from one box and tucked them neatly away into a drawer. Manila folders and a magical calendar came next.  
  
"Items to do," Malfoy commanded the calendar.  
  
"13 January 2005. Twelve o'clock-Meeting with Percy Weasley re: new job. Three o'clock-Use fireplace to wish Mother happy birthday. Is there anything to add?" the calendar asked politely.  
  
"That will be all, thank you," Malfoy answered absently. He took his wand in hand and methodically began arranging things into an orderly fashion on his desk. Using *Wingardium Leviosa*, he sent two awards up onto the wall and then spelled them into place. One was commemorating Malfoy receiving the Order of Merlin Second Class and the other was a special service award from the Order of the Phoenix signed by Albus Dumbledore himself. The last thing he added to the wall was a picture. Harry was shocked to see that it was of Malfoy standing in front of his father, Lucius Malfoy. Both the man and the boy looked rigid, with sour yet regal expressions on their faces.  
  
At first, Harry was confused because the picture looked as still as a Muggle photograph. He was about to comment when he looked closely and saw the senior Malfoy's hand tighten on his son's shoulder so hard the knuckles turned white, and saw the boy wince slightly. He realized that the picture wasn't of the Muggle variety, but instead that the two Malfoys were holding perfectly still in it.  
  
Harry was immediately suspicious. Why would Malfoy hang up a picture of himself posing with the man he apparently hated enough to murder? It made no sense, and was more than a little disconcerting. Never mind the fact that simply seeing Lucius Malfoy's face was enough to thoroughly disturb Harry.  
  
"That's disgusting, Malfoy," he finally spit out.  
  
Malfoy turned his head to see what Harry was referring to. "I don't see why," he answered. "My father and I are both exceedingly attractive men. Although, I wouldn't expect someone who's dated Ron Weasley to know anything about attractive men."  
  
"Fuck you."  
  
Malfoy smiled beatifically. "If you'd like."  
  
Harry's face blossomed into a bright red and Malfoy's smile widened at the sight of it. "That's not even clever," he replied when he could speak again.  
  
"Given that, one would wonder why you weren't able to come up with a rebuttal," Malfoy countered.  
  
"I was too nauseated by the thought of the two of us having sex to think properly."  
  
"Ah, is that what that was, then? Nausea?"  
  
Harry narrowed his eyes. "What else would it be?"  
  
Malfoy raised his hands. "I don't know. I was only clarifying. So, things seem awkward between you and that red haired menace. Did he break your heart?"  
  
Crossing his arms around himself, Harry glared at Malfoy. At the gesture, Malfoy leaned back in his chair, his stance becoming less confrontational.  
  
"You know, off the top of my head, I really couldn't think of anything that is less your business," Harry answered angrily.  
  
"Well, I could ask how he is at sucking cock," Malfoy suggested innocently. Harry sputtered in shock, and Malfoy continued. "But obviously I wouldn't, as that would be inappropriate to talk about in the workplace."  
  
"You make me sick," Harry announced firmly.  
  
Malfoy waved the comment away. "Yes, yes. Nausea, you've already mentioned that. If you could sing another song soon I would appreciate it. That one's getting boring."  
  
"Do your work and I'll do mine," Harry replied, "and we can each forget the other person exists, as much as is possible."  
  
"You look good without your robe on, Potter," he said by way of response, "You should go without it more often."  
  
Harry studied the parchment in front of him and tried to pretend he hadn't heard that last comment. Twenty minutes later, Malfoy grinned when Harry shook off his robe again.  
  
"I can't work with it on," he defended himself.  
  
"Of course," Malfoy agreed amicably, that damnable look still on his face.  
  
"Shut up."  
  
"I didn't say anything."  
  
"You're smirking," Harry countered.  
  
Malfoy shrugged. "It's my default expression," he explained.  
  
Both men worked in silence after that, neither saying anything more. At five minutes until noon, Malfoy's calendar piped up.  
  
"Excuse me, Draco. Terribly sorry to interrupt, but it's time for your meeting with Percy Weasley re: new job."  
  
"Ah yes," he replied, "I had nearly forgotten. Thank you for reminding me."  
  
"It's my job," the calendar answered proudly.  
  
"Yes well, your diligence is an example to us all, Reginald. I'm off." With that, he neatly stacked the pieces of parchment he'd been working on, and headed out the door without a single glance at Harry.  
  
"Nice man," Reginald said after he was gone. "Always on time for everything. He's a good sort."  
  
Harry snorted. "Did you know that he was a Death Eater?" he asked the calendar, trying to ignore the fact that he was challenging an office supply.  
  
"Yes," it responded evenly, "He was never late to a single meeting."  
  
Hermione took a calm sip of her pumpkin juice. She and Harry were sitting in a corner booth at the Three Broomsticks.  
  
"I know you're shocked, and that this is the last thing you would have expected, but Harry, I do my job well and you know the last thing I would do is put you danger. If I thought there was even the slightest chance that we were wrong about Malfoy, there's no way I would have allowed it. Or Percy either," she added.  
  
Harry rubbed a weary hand over his eyes as he nodded to concede her point. "I know, Hermione, I know, and I don't mean to be repetitious, but why Malfoy, of all people?"  
  
"He's the best, Harry. He'd been working with Percy on the Rabastan Lestrange case, undercover, without the Ministry knowing. After the raid on Lestrange Manor five months ago, it was Malfoy who defended Percy against the high Wizard court of law, when they tried to accuse him of double crossing the Ministry in order to gain power for the firm. Dumbledore was there, and Amelia Bones, but the rest were ready to close us down. It was Malfoy who spoke up and saved him, and he risked a lot to do it," Hermione told him matter-of-factly.  
  
"I didn't know that. I mean, I knew about Percy being tried, obviously, but I thought Dumbledore had been able to convince Marchbanks, Ogden and the rest. I didn't even realize he was involved in the Lestrange case at all, and I was there," Harry breathed.  
  
"We couldn't tell you. Only Percy and I had any idea. This wasn't the first time he'd helped us, and it wasn't the last. He's passed along nearly impossible-to-find ingredients for us to make defensive potions, given us locations of Death Eater lairs and other higher-up Ministry information, and even, I'm almost ashamed to admit it, funded some cases when the commission was too low. Then he heard about Seamus going to Dublin and left the Ministry completely. He heard about it and he quit, in order to join us," Hermione emphasized.  
  
"Why did he want to leave the Ministry? Why did he help us?" Harry asked.  
  
Hermione shook her head. "I don't know, Harry. Maybe he was as sick of all the lies and pettiness as the rest of us. We've been through things no one ever should have had to go through. We've seen things that would be inconceivable to most people. But think about what it was like for *him*: being in the Inner Circle, seeing the disaster that Voldemort wrought, and actually *caring*. To not be able to do anything about it, be forced to sit back and watch innocent people die. You saw what happened to the members of the Order, can you even begin to imagine what it was like for him?"  
  
Harry did remember. He remembered the depression Remus had fallen into in the months after Sirius' death, the way he stopped taking his Wolfsbane because he didn't want anything to dull the pain he felt. Remembered the man he thought of as a mentor and father figure admitting to Harry that the ripping apart of his skin felt good, that it was a relief. He remembered Tonks, who had never quite recovered from the fight at the Department of Mysteries during Harry's fifth year, in that final battle, jumping in front of a Deterioration curse meant for him. How after the war was won she disappeared and begged them not to try and find her. Then there was Arabella Figg, defenseless against magic, murdered with the Avada Kedavra curse in her own home. Harry remembered the numerous people who had died defending him: Mad-Eye Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mundungus Fletcher, Elphias Doge. He remembered handing Dedalus Diggle's wife his ridiculous velvet top hat at the funeral.  
  
It had been five years since Harry had seen the effects of the Avada Kedavra curse, but if he closed his eyes the image of Mad-Eye Moody lying lifeless at his feet, a look of resignation and futility etched onto his face even in death, was as clear as it had been that day when he was seventeen.  
  
Yes, yes. Harry remembered.  
  
How would it have felt, then, to be Malfoy or Snape? To have to stand seeing that kind of horror and be expected to laugh? Did Malfoy ever perform Avada Kedavra at Voldemort's whim? Did he wince or keep his head held high? Did it hurt?  
  
Harry shook his head to clear it, and Hermione smiled sadly in sympathy.  
  
"I suppose you may have a point," he conceded.  
  
"I usually do."  
  
Harry grinned sardonically. "Have I ever told you how annoying that is?"  
  
She matched his look with one of her own. "Might have done."  
  
They lapsed into companionable silence as they finished their meals. Finally, Hermione wiped her mouth, placed her napkin back on her lap and folded her hands across the table.  
  
"What did Wigglerouse tell you?"  
  
Harry sighed. "Nothing bloody useful. Two more robberies, both rare items: one a first edition copy of some Muggle book of poetry; the other an original piece of artwork. They figured out the Wizards involved used an Obscuro potion. They never use spells, only potions, which has to make it harder for the criminals to get the job done, but also harder for us to trace back to a source. The Muggle police are all over these latest ones. Apparently some big money is involved."  
  
"So two more robberies have been pulled off, but we're nowhere closer to figuring out who's doing it?" Hermione asked.  
  
"Exactly," Harry responded wearily.  
  
A week later, Harry sat in his desk trying to work. "Could you please stop doing that?" he demanded. He had gone home early the night before and wound down from the week, determined to enter his office on Monday calm and ready to face Malfoy. And by face, obviously, he meant ignore. However, the prat was making it incredibly difficult to follow through on the plan because of his incessant tapping and his ridiculous midnight blue riding coat and soft, black leather trousers.  
  
Malfoy looked up at Harry and then back down at the quill he was rhythmically tapping against his desk. "It's how I concentrate. You strip down to your pants and I tap my quill. At least I have the decency not to complain about your quirks."  
  
Harry opened and closed his mouth indignantly. "I am NOT in pants!"  
  
"Whatever you say, Potter."  
  
"I'm NOT! Anyway, look at you. My jeans are nothing compared to those leathers you're wearing."  
  
"Ok," Malfoy seemed to be vaguely dismissing him as he went back to his work and his quill tapping. Harry fumed.  
  
He jiggled his leg anxiously, looking around the room. His eyes came across the picture between the two plaques.  
  
"Can I ask you a question, Malfoy?"  
  
The blonde head looked up. "That depends. Can I ask you one back?"  
  
Harry narrowed his eyes. "Sure."  
  
"Alright then," Malfoy agreed amicably, his eyes glinting in the mischievous way that Harry had been conditioned over the last week to dread, "what do you want to know?"  
  
He hesitated a moment, steeling himself against that foreshadowing look. "Why.uh.why do you have that picture of you and your father hanging up with your awards? You hate him. You killed him."  
  
Malfoy looked at the picture meditatively. "My father was a strict man. He hated my mother, whom he married for her name, beauty and money, but nothing else. She was a dignified woman, trained for years to marry someone like Lucius Malfoy. She knew the proper way to act in company, and the proper way to dress. She knew how to be cold and uncaring in public, but she didn't know how to do it in private.  
  
"He forbid her from touching me, ever. He said being coddled would make me weak. Still though, at night he slept the sleep of the supremely confident; so deep it was nearly impossible to wrench him out of it. That's how I killed him. I went into his chambers while he was asleep. I murdered him in his bed. That was also how my mother would sneak out at night and come to me to hug me and stroke my hair and put me to sleep.  
  
"Then one night, when I was ten, I had been having nightmares and begged her to stay with me. She acquiesced; I'm sure it was with the intention of going back to her room after I'd dropped off, but she made the mistake of falling asleep with me. The next day, I awoke to the sounds of her crying, and when I sat up I saw Father with his hand around her throat. My mother was bleeding, and her eyes.she was terrified, but when he let go of her throat long enough for her to speak, the only thing she said was, 'Not in front of Draco.'  
  
"Father grabbed hold of her lovely blonde hair and twisted so they were both facing me. He said, 'This is what will happen to your mother if you ever let her touch you again.' That night when she came to me, I turned my back and told her to get out. I could hear her stifling a sob as she left.  
  
"When I was thirteen years old and it was discovered that Voldemort would regain power, my father wanted to impress his master, but was afraid that his skill with the Unforgiveable curses was not as it once was. So he practiced Cruciatus on me for an hour, making sure he was at top form. After he had gone, my mother came running into the room. I'm sure he had locked her in some other part of the mansion, probably with a looking glass so she'd be forced to watch what he was doing. Anyway, she ran to me and tried to comfort me, to sooth my wounds; the bone deep, exhausted ache that is the after effect of Cruciatus, as I'm sure you know. I looked at her and remembered the way the curse had felt, and I remembered my father's words from years before. I wouldn't let her touch me.  
  
"When I was sixteen years old, my father held me down while Voldemort burned his mark into my skin. It hurt, but by then I was used to pain, that wasn't the point," Malfoy paused and rubbed his forearm where the mark used to be. He was still staring at the picture.  
  
The Dark Mark had vanished when Voldemort had finally been vanquished and all his followers no longer bound to him. It made tracking down former Death Eaters much more difficult, but for the first time Harry was glad for this phenomenon. After a moment, Malfoy continued.  
  
"For a while I thought that I would never be able to rid myself of the poison Father had filled me with. Even after I had killed him, he remained with me. How could the son of Lucius Malfoy be anything other than pure, unadulterated evil, after all? One day, I spoke to a Muggle-born in the Auror training program about that, and he told me something he heard once, a folktale or a hyperbole. There was once a man whose life had been consumed by alcohol; he had forsaken his family and all his responsibilities for the bottle. This man had two sons. When they were grown, one of them turned out to be a drunk. He said that he had learned it from his father's example, watching how he lived his life. The other wouldn't touch the stuff. His response was that he had seen how it ruined his father and he never wanted that to happen to him. I don't think I'm as innocent as all that. Part of my father is still with me. It takes a certain kind of man to murder another man as he sleeps, you know, and that kind of man usually learns it from his father. But I like to think that I've gained a bit more.perspective than he had on a great many subjects. That I've profited, in some way, from his madness."  
  
Behind his desk, Harry fidgeted. He felt absolutely horrid that he had expected Malfoy's answer to be something along the lines of: *Because we're both minions of the Dark Lord. Hail Voldemort, I shall do his bidding. After all, what's an arm or a soul, more or less, in the grand scheme of things?*  
  
It was quiet a moment more until Harry cleared his throat and spoke. "You didn't answer the question."  
  
"No, I don't suppose I did," Malfoy replied. "This job is hard. As an Auror, I was constantly surrounded by people who hated me, who blanched at the very mention of my name. I always have to work harder than everyone else to prove that I'm loyal, that I can be trusted." For the first time in the whole exchange, Malfoy turned sharply to look at Harry. "I keep that picture up to remind myself why I do this, to remind myself...why it's worth anything."  
  
There was no response Harry could think of besides a breathless and hopelessly inadequate "oh," so he didn't say anything at all, instead going back to his work. Twenty minutes later, something occurred to him.  
  
"Aren't you going to ask me something back?"  
  
Malfoy looked up at him, all the shadows gone from his face. "Not just yet."  
  
"Not just yet?" Harry repeated.  
  
"You should know better than to become indebted to a Slytherin, Harry. We always use it to our advantage," he answered conspiratorially.  
  
A lesser man would have swallowed convulsively. Harry rolled his eyes with strained nonchalance.  
  
The next week, Malfoy looked up unexpectedly from his work and called to Harry.  
  
"Potter, can I ask you a question?"  
  
Remembering their deal, Harry reluctantly nodded. "I suppose."  
  
Truthfully, he'd been both anticipating and dreading what it was Malfoy would make him say. He guessed that was his intent in making him wait in the first place.  
  
"You and Weasley," Malfoy started, and Harry groaned. "Explain."  
  
"We were together, and then nine months ago, we stopped," Harry said quickly.  
  
"Potter," Malfoy responded seriously, "I think I'm owed more than that."  
  
Harry guessed he was right. "Ron and I started dating when we were both nineteen. Last April we ended it.he ended it. It was.Ron loves me. We love each other. I think he decided that since we already had that going for us, and we both liked blokes, that everything else would sort of work itself out. I have a feeling that if he was straight he would have tried the same thing with Hermione, though Merlin bless her, she wouldn't have been stupid enough to go along with it. I knew months before he broke up with me that it was going to happen. We dated for two years, but it wasn't ever really more than two mates hanging out and then going home to have a shag.  
  
"When he ended it.as much as I love Ron, I can admit to his faults, and he is terrible with emotions. I really believe he thought that after we'd split apart then oh well, we'd still be friends. But it was different for him than it was for me. He'd been surrounded his whole life by people who loved him. Sometimes he was even suffocated by it, but he took it for granted. Me, I can count on one hand the amount of people I really love and trust and still have room to smoke a fag. When Ron left me, he lost a shag, but I lost a family. The Weasleys still adore me, I know, but now I'm not their son-in-law anymore, I'm only their son's best friend. Ron doesn't realize it.  
  
"And I've always looked at him with something like awe, because I saw him as a saviour who rescued me from my terrible life. I fancied him a bit from the day I met him, because of that. So. That's.me and Ron," Harry finished.  
  
Malfoy put his bootclad feet on his desk, crossed at the ankle. "All this 'woe is me' business is because of some ill-placed hero worship then?" he asked.  
  
"Probably partly. I mean, I really did love him," Harry said. "I am over it though, truly. I don't ever want to be with Ron Weasley again. Feeling like I come second to a game of Quidditch and a good lager is not the life for me."  
  
Two days later, when Harry and Malfoy walked into Hermione's office to find Ron and Byron kissing, it was Malfoy who responded when Harry was too stunned.  
  
"Snogging in the boss's office, Weasley? That doesn't strike you as unprofessional?"  
  
Ron gaped at them in horror, his face flaming a deep, painful red. Byron grabbed a folder and rushed out of the room.  
  
"Come on, Potter," Malfoy commanded, shooting a look sideways to catch Harry's eye, "let's get something to drink. We're early anyway."  
  
They both began to leave. Ron called out to Harry, but he cut him off, answering briskly over his shoulder, "Not now, Ron; I'm quite thirsty."  
  
On the Monday marking one month of Harry's dealing with Malfoy, the looming threat of stacks and stacks of papers on Harry's desk propelled him into asking the next question. There had been two more robberies since he had last met with Wigglerouse. More Obscuro potions and they were nowhere closer to discovering the perpetrators. Harry didn't like to think about it, and he wanted to avoid doing a write up for as long as possible.  
  
"Malfoy, can I ask you a question?"  
  
Malfoy's pale eyebrow rose, and he answered, "That depends. Can I ask you one back?"  
  
"Yes," Harry answered with much less hesitation than last time.  
  
"Alright then," Malfoy said pleasantly, "what do you want to know?"  
  
"Well," Harry began carefully, "Lucius Malfoy was found dead in '99 but you didn't join the Aurors until 2002. What were you doing in between?"  
  
Malfoy smirked. "I was married."  
  
Harry choked on the tea he was drinking. "You are were *married*? To a *woman*?"  
  
"I'm not sure whether or not to be insulted by your incredulity," Malfoy mused.  
  
"No offense intended. You just don't seem like the marriage type."  
  
"Or the woman type?"  
  
"Or that."  
  
"Right on both counts, but I don't think that mattered much to my father."  
  
"But your father was dead," Harry pointed out reasonably.  
  
Malfoy shook his head and smiled patronizingly. Harry wanted to rip the lips off his face. "That's the beauty of magic, Potter. It allows your legacy to live on long after your son executes you. He magically bound me to the purest family he could find, forcing us to be married two years, as he assumed that would be long enough for us to create an heir."  
  
"The purest family? Let me guess: Pansy Parkinson."  
  
"Incorrect. Don't take another sip of your tea just yet, Potter. Millicent Bulstrode."  
  
Even without the drink in his mouth, he started coughing. "Millicent Bulstrode? Dear God, you had *sex* with Millicent Bulstrode? No, don't tell me, I don't want to know."  
  
"I never had sex with Millie," he admitted.  
  
"Oh thank *God*," Harry exclaimed ardently.  
  
Malfoy looked at him shrewdly. "Why does it matter to you who I sleep with, Potter?"  
  
"I.don't.I mean, Bulstrode is a giant, lumbering bully. She's like a female Crabbe, while *you're*." he trailed off quickly.  
  
"While I'm what?" A grin quirked up at the corners of Malfoy's mouth.  
  
".Gay," Harry finished weakly.  
  
"Good point," he agreed blandly, apparently willing to let Harry off the hook. "Anyway, as far as that goes, my father betrothed me to who is probably the most masculine woman I've ever met. Quite ironic if you think about it. Millie didn't want to touch me either, at any rate. She was happily committing adultery every night of the week with a big, brute Beater from Durmstrang. She said she had no interest in men with longer hair than her. I don't blame her, neither do I."  
  
"Mr. Millicent Bulstrode."  
  
"As soon as the obligatory two years had run out, we divorced and Millie ran off to Austria with her Fergy. I still see them at Christmas. Nice family, two kids, both girls."  
  
"Amazing."  
  
"Potter, can I ask." Malfoy began the Tuesday after that, but was interrupted by Hermione striding into their office.  
  
She looked extremely distressed. "There's been another robbery."  
  
Malfoy rolled his eyes as Harry sighed wearily.  
  
"What priceless Muggle artifact did they take this time?" Malfoy asked with a sneer.  
  
Hermione met his gaze evenly, her concern written plainly all over her face. "Harriet Sebastian, age five."  
  
While Harry, Hermione, Percy and Malfoy walked from the nearest Wizarding community to the home of Gregory Sebastian, Hermione debriefed them about the facts of the case.  
  
"Harriet Sebastian is the daughter of Gregory and Nancy Sebastian. Gregory is a Muggle and Nancy is a Witch. Or was. She died sometime last year. I contacted Dumbledore and he told me that Harriet is to be invited to attend Hogwarts when she comes of age, so she is magical. According to Mr. Sebastian, who was home at the time, he was making dinner last night when suddenly he heard Harriet screaming. He ran to the living room where she had been watching telly to find what looked like her floating above the ground. The air around her shimmered, and every time he tried to reach her, he became disoriented and unable to get close enough to help his daughter."  
  
"Sounds like someone using an Obscuro potion on himself," Harry stated, pointing out the obvious.  
  
"Are you surprised?" Hermione questioned.  
  
"Not in the least," he admitted.  
  
"Why kidnap this child? Why is she important?" Malfoy asked.  
  
"What do we know about Nancy Sebastian? Maybe this was done out of vengeance?" Harry suggested.  
  
"Mrs. Sebastian didn't seem to be too involved in the Wizarding community. The Sebastians aren't connected to the Floo network, and Mr. Sebastian hadn't even heard of Hogsmeade when I mentioned it," explained Percy.  
  
"Perhaps Mr. Sebastian isn't the most liberally accepting of all men and didn't want to hear about our ways? It has been known to happen with Muggles," Malfoy proposed.  
  
"Yes, and all Wizards universally embrace Muggle culture, do they?" Harry shot back snidely.  
  
"I was merely offering a hypothesis," Malfoy defended himself.  
  
"This man lost his wife and now his child is missing. If you could refrain from condemning him until we've heard his side of the story, that would be spectacular."  
  
"This is the house," Percy announced, cutting off whatever Malfoy was planning to say in response to Harry's rebuke.  
  
The house was average looking with a steep staircase and that led to a brown, wooden door. The four Wizards filed up the stairs and Hermione pressed the buzzer. Immediately, a haggard looking man in his early thirties let them in. His eyes had dark circles under them, his face was rough with stubble and his shirt and jeans were wrinkled as if he had been up all night.  
  
Percy made introductions quickly. "I'm Percy Weasley, and this is my partner Hermione Granger, whom you spoke with on the."  
  
"Telephone," Hermione supplied.  
  
"Yes, the telephone. Thank you, Hermione. These men are detectives Malfoy and Potter. Detective Potter has been working on this case for some time now and is the most familiar with all the specifics. You've already spoken to Daffodillia Wigglerouse, is that correct?"  
  
"Gregory Sebestian," the man reciprocated. He shook the hand of each person introduced, and Harry didn't notice the curious, speculative look Sebastian shot him.  
  
"I spoke to Mrs. Wigglerouse and she said that you guys could help me. Can you help me?" The question was asked with a definite tinge of desperation.  
  
"We'll do our best," Hermione assured him. "First I have to ask, were you aware that your wife, Nancy, was a Witch?"  
  
Sebastian nodded. "Of course. She told me about two months after we'd been dating. We still get the *Daily Prophet* delivered to the house everyday. She did some magic to prove it to me back then, but mostly she preferred to do without. She absolutely *loved* Quidditch, though, especially the Montrose Magpies."  
  
"The Magpies played terribly this season," Malfoy commented.  
  
Sebastian smiled a small, sad smile. "I know. I've been keeping up on the scores through the *Daily Prophet*, though I don't really understand it all."  
  
"Did you realize that your daughter also has magical abilities?" Hermione asked, getting the conversation back on track.  
  
"Does she?" Sebastian questioned back. "No, I didn't know. My wife and I decided that I would explain everything to Harriet when she was ten and old enough to understand it. We weren't even sure if she'd inherit her mother's abilities. I suppose she'll be going to Hogwarts then?"  
  
They nodded.  
  
"How did.how did your wife die?" Percy asked delicately.  
  
"Cancer," Sebastian answered softly. "She told me that as well, on the day she confessed to being a Witch. Guess which revelation distressed me more."  
  
Harry'd never heard of a single Wizard who died from cancer. He'd assumed they were able to cure it, as they could most illnesses.  
  
Quietly, he left the group and looked around the house. It was nice, and moderately furnished. In the living room, there were toys littering the floor messily. Harry wanted to clean them up if only to rid Mr. Sebastian of the reminder of his daughter not being there.  
  
"I was wrong."  
  
The voice made him jump, and Harry whirled around to see Malfoy standing behind him.  
  
"About the father. I assumed things I shouldn't have and made a mistake. You were right."  
  
"Yes," Harry agreed.  
  
Malfoy shrugged helplessly and glided smoothly closer to him. "Slytherin mentality, I suppose. Forgive me?"  
  
Harry took a hasty step backwards. "It's not me you have to apologize to."  
  
"I think Mr. Sebastian has enough to worry about without me baring my heart to him about my bigoted father and ever suspicious Hogwarts House."  
  
"Is this you baring your heart then?" Harry asked with a raise of his eyebrow.  
  
"In a manner of speaking," Malfoy replied slyly.  
  
Turning to face the mantle, Harry changed the subject. "At least Sebastian is cooperating with us," he mused. "I was afraid he would demand the Ministry. It was a good thing Wigglerouse spoke to him."  
  
"Mm," Malfoy agreed, "did you see the way he was looking at you?"  
  
Harry frowned. "No, how was he looking at me?"  
  
"As if he recognized you."  
  
Harry gave a short laugh. "Malfoy, I'm *Harry Potter*, the Boy Who Lived. Do you know how many times a day someone looks at me as if they know me?"  
  
"Yes, thank you," Malfoy replied sarcastically, "and as everyone knows, the sun rises and sets around the great and auspicious Harry Potter. None are so important as he."  
  
"That's not what I meant!" Harry argued.  
  
Malfoy went on as if he hadn't heard him. "This is different because Sebastian is a Muggle."  
  
"He said that he got the *Daily Prophet*," Harry pointed out. "I'm sure he knows me from any of the thousand times I've been mentioned in it."  
  
Malfoy didn't answer, and Harry's eyes were drawn to a picture set on the mantle. It was of a woman and newborn baby. The woman had long, curly black hair and bright blue eyes. She was smiling beatifically at the camera, and it caused the skin at the corners of her eyes to crinkle. There was something about the woman that made him examine her more closely. It was nothing recognizable about her specifically-Harry couldn't identify her eyes or nose or the curve of her neck. And yet, it felt as though he knew her.  
  
"Those are my girls," Sebastian said from the doorway.  
  
"They're beautiful, both of them," Harry complimented.  
  
"Yes, they are," Sebastian agreed. Harry watched as the man's eyes brimmed red, and both he and Malfoy looked respectfully away while he composed himself.  
  
When his head rose back up, Harry finally saw the look of recognition Malfoy had been talking about.  
  
"I just have to ask," Sebastian told him, "You're Detective Potter. Would that be Harry Potter, by any chance?"  
  
"Yes, actually."  
  
The man seemed absolutely stunned. "My wife was a HUGE fan of yours. She talked about you all the time. The Boy Who Lived, right? Hero of the Wizarding world?"  
  
Harry gave him a tight, polite smile. "That's right."  
  
"She adored you so much that we named our daughter after you. Little Harriet."  
  
Harry froze, becoming more than slightly nervous at this revelation. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Malfoy tense up.  
  
"We had a picture of you on the mantle too, one of those moving ones. But Nancy was polishing it one day and accidentally dropped it and broke the frame. We never got around to getting a new one. Hang on, I think we still have the picture here somewhere."  
  
Sebastian rifled in a nearby drawer and Malfoy slipped out of the room.  
  
"Ah! Here it is," Sebastian crowed triumphantly, holding up a bent picture and handing it to Harry. "It has to be you; same glasses and no one can mistake that scar."  
  
The picture showed him on his broom above the Quidditch pitch, smiling and waving at the camera. Harry stared, fascinated.  
  
"Nancy said you were a great Seeker, and could have played professionally if you had wanted to."  
  
Harry nodded absently and looked up to see Malfoy come back into the room with Hermione and Percy in tow, then continued scrutinizing the picture. The problem was that Harry recognized himself; the length of his hair and the cut of the robe he was wearing, and both of them he had when he was seventeen. He was also too tired and weathered for the picture to have been set in anything other than his seventh year. And because of the war, Quidditch had been canceled his sixth and seventh years, so he couldn't have been playing in a game. Therefore, he must only have been flying for fun.  
  
So who was he waving at? He wracked his brain to come up with something. After all, there weren't many people he would smile and pose for as naturally as he was in that picture.  
  
When the answer hit him, the realization was so sudden and violent that it almost knocked him off his feet. His head whipped up to look at the four other people in the room.  
  
"I know why they kidnapped her," he gasped.  
  
"What? Why?" Hermione demanded, and everyone else stared at him eagerly.  
  
Harry glanced down at the picture that he was clutching so tightly his knuckles had turned white.  
  
"They think she's a Metamorphmagus," he whispered.  
  
"A *WHAT*?" Sebastian cried.  
  
"Why would they think that, Harry?" Percy questioned logically. "That kind of power could only be tapped with instruction, which Harriet obviously didn't have. Not to mention that Metamorphmagi are extremely rare."  
  
"There's a higher chance of a child becoming one if a parent is though, right?"  
  
"It's almost 25% more likely. But Harry, I don't see why that's relevant."  
  
Harry turned to the mantle and the picture of Nancy Sebastian and her baby. His eyes ran over Nancy's black hair and bright eyes, all familiar and yet not. He'd not known those features right away because they weren't the way she looked all the time. Only one mask of many, another in a seemingly endless supply of disguises.  
  
He pointed at her. "It's relevant because that's Tonks." 


End file.
